


Blueshift

by scorpiris



Category: Smallville
Genre: AU, Drama, Other, Revisionist History
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiris/pseuds/scorpiris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experiment on destiny. Or: those who grow up together, rule together. [yet another one of those Clark-not-raised-by-the-Kents AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the beginning

The little pod hummed its discontent. Messily prepared, it flew jaggedly after its parent-craft had been shot down upon leaving the System. A small sobbing mass in its cramped space bore further testament of how things could be so much better prepared. Granted the circumstances was not ideal for it to be its perfectionist self.

Coaxing the little Kryptonian into stasis—not an easy task with such a distraught boy as stubborn as this—it prepared itself for hyperdrive. This time, it would have to be perfect—as perfect as it could possibly be in the small amount of time provided. Sometimes it's irritating to be an intelligent non-sentient being. Negative emotions really messed with its perfectly-calibrated telemetry.

********

_.the past._

Krypton’s whole existence was a curse from the start—orbiting around a dying sun, contending with deeply-rooted prophesies that kept them at the fringes of the Confederation. Theirs was a life of extinction, a death pall that hung above their heads as surely as it was over their ancestors. No planet within the Confederation heeded their request for an asylum away from this manically shifting sun. Cursed, the Confederation had decreed about Krypton and its inhabitants. Their resources were further depleted as they waged war after war against the universe, it seemed. They would repel a fleet of rare-earth hunters only to see them replaced by paranoid Confederation extremists. It was astonishing how many advanced races still believed that a planetful of people could curse the whole galaxy simply by existing. Maybe they’re too evil, some whispered. Trapped in a perpetual cycle of war and death. It seemed to be their life, their role in the universe’s grand design, hurrying along towards their extinction.

This time, their attackers had cleverly used the eclipse of their dying sun to cloak their path, landing their first seven advance shuttles before Krypton’s already failing breach-detection system picked up on the fact. Then it was too late.

****

The elderly adviser weaved frantically through the masses. He saw panic, resolution, anger and resignation. Kryptonian guards, or what’s left of them, filed grimly to their battle stations. Civilians piled into transport vessels. He picked out the silhouette of his sovereign, manning the communications console, with his royal consort by his side, overseeing planet-wide evacuation and what could possibly be their last fight. "They would not let us leave!" Someone yelled behind him.

Then, the planet shuddered violently. "There’s no time to prepare the mothership!" someone yelled again. The elderly adviser couldn't get his legs to carry him quick enough. Everything had gone so wrong—their calculations and predictions, timing and their fate.  He didn’t have to be told that their sun was deteriorating more rapidly than previously thought, as was the planet's center of gravity. "You must leave! There is a vessel waiting for you."

It was a brief moment of explosion somewhere on the near horizon that lit up the place, allowing those old eyes to properly look at his liege. Emperor for but a day, more scientist than warrior, who took over the throne perhaps one sunrise or two ago following his brother’s sudden death. What's left of the High Council had quickly voted Jor-El as ruler of all, then decided that there wasn’t time to give his dead predecessor a proper burial. The old adviser shuddered as he remembered a sightless corpse lying in state underneath the rubble of the Old Palace. It had taken the scouts two hours to bring the news to the front line where Jor-el was overseeing the salvage of an overturned warship, half of its crew already dead—further halved by the end of the day. Another hour had been expended to alternately help the rescue team and coax their new emperor to relative safety.

"I cannot leave, not now." Jor-el had said to him that day on the fields. It seemed to have become a mantra for the new monarch, repeated twice more, and now once again. Another explosion lit up the skies behind them, illuminating a look of tired determination in the face of futility. The adviser did not envy Jor-El his lot in life.

There was a small shadow that stood close to his leg and Jor-El looked down with a pained expression. "But Kal-El can." There was resolve, tempered by sadness as palpable and heavy like a cloak, but he was surprised to see only a minute amount of regret.

"Father?" Kal-El's voice was small as he looked away from the spectacle of fire raining down from deep red sky. "Mother?" Kal-El's small hand outstretched toward his mother and wide eyes watched the same expression form on her face. A dark shadow emerged from the wings, cutting a swathe amongst scurrying soldiers in his urgency. Kal-El noticed the man and tilted his head to the side, brows knitted with concern when everyone began to speak one over the other. The rest of the conversation was lost as his father swept him up and hugged him, as his mother rained salty-sweet tears into his hair that dripped onto his eyelashes and nestled on the curve of his mouth. He couldn't feel anything as strong arms transferred him to another. "Uncle?"

"Say goodbye, Kal-El," his uncle, the General, coaxed as he began to move away, backing out into the shadows once more. The adviser was told to follow, to be proxy to the child’s mother and father. He was too old to be of use anywhere, so he went.

****

"See you soon, Father... Mother..." Kal-El mumbled against his uncle's throat, in a child's speech that sounded like hope and Kal-El felt his world turn once more. It was more violent than anything he could remember, and he felt very ill. He wrapped his limbs around his uncle, steadfastly refusing to look for his parents' eyes, usually his oasis of calm. He knew he was to go somewhere, and that he might not see his parents again. He thought of his nursery, and all those multi-colored bottles in his father's lab. He remembered the blue and yellow bud in his mother's hothouse, he would never see it bloom now, he thought sadly. Sighing, he tightened his grip around his uncle's neck, the armor's metal collar sent cold static against his forearm. He tried to be brave, as they had taught him for as long as he could remember. He sang a lullaby under his breath.

Fingers danced across his back, and he turned to meet his nanny's gaze.

"I trust you with his safety," his uncle said to the nanny and left without a look back. Kal-el dared not breathe as he was hugged and then carried deep into the bowels of a transport vessel. He saw his friends, huddled together with their mothers and nannies. "Where are we going?" he asked and received only silence.

****

Every year, less and less children were born as parents balked at the idea of bringing new souls into this sort of brutal existence. And yet, even greatly diminished, they still couldn't gather every child. They tried as best they could, even old people and soldiers half-dead from the front lines were redirected every day to help evacuate these children. But, some were just too unreachable, some perished en route to designated launch sites. Others simply disappeared.

In the end, there wasn't a large contingent to be taken off-world. A paltry amount of vessels, much less than they had hoped. Some of those would not even make it past the upper atmosphere, shot down by enemy warships. They'd come hurtling down in a ball of fire at their distraught parents below. Several more vessels would sustain great damage that they would not survive the whole voyage.

Still, on the few that survived were the hopes and prayers of a dying race; though most were too young to understand the paradox of their burden and their freedom. Soon, they slept, lulled by the hum of their ship, a sea of endless darkness around them. Perhaps, they'd wake up to see the sun.

 

 

**oOo0~0oOo oOo0~0oOo**

 

 

If it's true for any species that they work best under pressure, then there could be nothing more pressing than a doomsday-saying. Kryptonian geneticists had always been trying to isolate the super-gene, ones that would make for a better breed of offspring: stronger, faster, cleverer. Kryptonian engineers created spaceships, habilitators, and even exploring ways to create whole new planets (which was not an easy task even for the most brilliant of minds). Everything and anything to ensure the survival of their species, by any means necessary. Nothing was too difficult or too taboo. Their growth in technology, knowledge, and rule of law was as impressive as it was desperate.

But, all their efforts came at an abrupt end one summer's day, which actually began with a quiet brilliance. Then came the eclipse, somewhat expected. The attack that came with it though had caught them unawares, their preparation nowhere near ready. Still, parents bundled their children into ships and pods. The smallest ones were accompanied by their wet-nurses and guardians, most of whom would never see either Home or New Krypton. They had chosen their final destinations carefully, programmed the ships to communicate with one another, so they could come together once a suitable planet or two had been located. Of all the planets, they sent the Royal Child to one with a sun so bright it felt like promised land.

Once they arrived, they would continue to grow and evolve. In time, they would become teachers, even conquerors. Kryptonian explorers and scouts all agreed that most indigenous populations they came across were primitive and narrow-minded in their outlook. But Kryptonians would teach them their hard won wisdom. New Krypton would unite them, keep peace, ensure that no world would ever witness or experience the kind of planetwide destruction Krypton had had to endure. They would protect the people, save them from their own weakness.

********

An aide scurried from one room to the other, his boss at the Space Center would want to know. They were always paranoid, always training eyes to the skies above the stratosphere. Their monitors were trying to tell them something, that they might be waiting for some great event to unfold.

********

The proximity to this brilliant, alien sun awakened the sentient power of stones and boulders. Already altered by timeshift and warp speed, they glowed, like specters awakened from their sleep. And if they had more life, they would've exclaimed with joy at this newfound power. As yet, they could not.

Trapped in their midst, the pod became more agitated. Try as it might, it could not escape the boulders that somehow appeared around it when it exited hyperdrive.  The pod stored any information it could find, to be analyzed later.

They brushed past the outer layers of earth's atmosphere. Friction, heat, and radioactivity made those rocks even stronger; strong enough now to seep through the pod's protective layer.  Its precious cargo squirmed and cried inconsolably, and no amount of lullabies could console it. It would be best if the child could be put back into stasis, but the pod was already much weakened. It could do nothing but hastened its descent. Hopefully, away from the worst of those rock clusters.

 

********

 

The aides were frantic now. This was so much larger than they had expected. It took them a considerable effort to start moving again. It took longer for them to regain their balance after a two-lifetime worth of shock. Crews were hastily assembled, piled into any vehicle they could find. Go now, think later. Kansas had never felt so far away.

 

********

 

The rocks were not the only one affected, it seemed. The ship wasn't prepared for a radiation of this magnitude and it shook terribly as a sudden charge of power coursed through its circuitry. This condition wasn't something their engineers had prepared it for, but it wasn't going to start a debate with itself. It became more powerful and drained at the same time, but protecting Kal-El was always within its ability.

Solid ground beckoned, they would land in mere minutes possibly. It did not have time to calculate what would happen once it released Kal-El to the outside world, racing instead to alter Kal-El's physiology. But it couldn't do very much. In fact, it could barely do anything at all except maneuvering a last ditch attempt to veer away from its programmed trajectory. Find somewhere safer to land.

As it flew above the landscape, the pod surveyed and cataloged the damage. A whole town, it would seem. Fires burning, stalks charred black, some held on resolutely at the edges of scorched earth. Its information bank did not have any data about the indigenous inhabitants having telepathic ability, but its scanning meters caught spikes of fear nonetheless.

It landed forcefully, but at least there wouldn't be any lasting damage. The ship was running out of energy now, it had done what it could. Kal-El would not perish, but he would not be completely safe from the rocks either. It bought Kal-El time enough until the threat could be properly neutralized, made safe. Safer. It's only other regret, as it released the small boy from stasis, was of his unfinished education. But the others would come, and they would help the boy take his rightful place as Heir.

The pod hatched open. It should not take long for the ship to recharge. It would let Kal-El play a while.

 

**oOo0~0oOo oOo0~0oOo**

 

 

Another day, another party. But this time, Lex wasn't allowed to slip out feigning tiredness. A two-digit age finally meant no curfew, but it also meant no pretending to need one when he's bored. And ever since that meteor shower, no pretending to be sick either. At least today he wasn't the only child in the room trying to act like a grown-up. In fact, he had never seen such a great turnout of pre-puberty attendees at this kind of a party before. Just off the foyer, one of the bigger downstairs room was even turned into well-appointed crèche fit for a royal baby.

Although, Lex thought as he spied a familiar boy in the corner. Bruce Wayne seemed to have skipped childhood and went straight to adulthood. Maybe he was born stuffy and all grown-up. But there were perks of being born a grown-up, Lex guessed, looking at the sullen gangly boy across the room. Lex had seen the car that brought Wayne and his guardian to the Luthor doorstep. He would bet his entire inheritance that the old butler didn't drive that land-jet the whole way.

If he played his cards right, he might be able to wiggle a try out of this.

****

Lex took a hasty step forward and promptly collided into something, sending them tumbling across marble floor directly towards a column. Whoever thought of putting a column in the middle of a ballroom should be shot, in Lex's opinion, bracing himself for a huge knock to his head. Which never came. He opened his eyes and saw dark hair pressed against the base of the column and Lex's chest.

A crowd was starting to gather, the foremost of which was his father who yanked his hand so violently, Lex might need his shoulders re-set. There was an elbow into his ribs when a cloud of rose-scented blood red organza pushed past him to get to a small boy who was leaning on his forearm trying to get up.

****

Lionel Luthor had thrown a party to honor the new senator—a big bear of a man, who always seemed to genuinely like being around family and children. The man had a tendency to judge everything by family standards and hated none more than people who disliked children, probably the only reason why Lionel Luthor bit the inside of his cheek and played happy family during business. 

There were a whole host of reasons why he disliked having children at parties, this was one of them. His son had managed to injure a boy. And not just any boy, but the grandson of Anna Heilige, a battleaxe of a matriarch who was a saint in surname only. He pulled Lex onto his feet just in time to get him out of the way. Sofia, Anna's only child, pushed past everyone and pulled her boy away. The dark-haired boy didn't seem to be injured, despite the speed and magnitude of the impact. He looked quiet and contrite, even.

Anna appeared seconds later, blinding everyone with her diamonds and pearls. Sofia spoke up first. “I'm sorry I was distracted,” she said, low but clear even through the murmurs surrounding this family tableau.

“I'm sorry, Grandmother,” the little boy piped in, eyes trained directly at the matriarch. Scared but unbowed. Anna would never suffer fools or cowards gladly.

“Well, you've caused quite a commotion.”

****

Lex watched the little boy, about five or six years old in Lex's estimate, being lectured by an unbelievably old lady. She looked like one of those wraiths in a horror movie he once saw, the one with undead witches and washed up virgins. The little boy’s blue-black hair flopped over earnest eyes, the color of seafoam under all the lights. A minute quivering on those little rose-bud lips and a flush on his cheekbones were the only signs of the boy’s fear. Yet, the boy stood his ground, little tuxedo-clad body thrumming nervously as he visibly tried to not lean towards his mother.

“This will never happen if you do not insist on being such a _child_ ,” Anna lectured on.

But the boy was a child, Lex argued internally. And a righteous anger bloomed inside his chest.

“Excuse me,” he said, even before he realized what he was doing.

Many pair of eyes turned towards him, including his father's.

“And you are...” the woman turned her attention to him, and Lex tried not to flinch at the sight of flinty brown eyes flecked with red. Like hell, but cold like Arctic winters.

“Alexander Luthor, Ma'am,” he answered in what he hoped was sufficiently respectful. His father's grip tightened painfully on his shoulder. _You better not fuck this up_ , it was telegraphed loud and clear beneath the bruises sure to form. “It was my fault. I was in a hurry and failed to look out.”

Lex stood waiting for... he didn't know what exactly. The whole ballroom seemed to wait with him as well. He didn't want to cause a scene, but the old woman did start it first. What happened to punishing kids in private, nowadays?

Those eyes measured him closely, and she turned towards the little boy once again. “It seems that you've gained yourself a champion.” She smiled slightly. Perhaps she liked her grandson still. “You will apologize, of course.”

The boy nodded jerkily and Lex watched as the little boy made his rounds, apologizing to his mother (who gave him a watery hug), grandmother (who smiled stiffly), to the senator for ruining the party (who gave him a reassuring pat on his head), and to Lionel Luthor. The boy stopped in front of Lex and extended his small hand, which Lex quickly took.

“Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?” the boy asked. And Lex was momentarily stymied.

Somewhere behind them, the old woman was lecturing his father about childrearing, with the senator placating the woman in turn. Lex didn't have to look to know that he would have to endure another post-party reaming from his father. He sighed loudly. “It's fine,” Lex settled with those instead. “How about you?” Lex patted the boy's shoulders, frowning.

Lex watched closely as the boy cycled through his little-boy emotions, finally shedding his hesitation. The slow bloom of a smile, tentatively at first then blindingly bright, did something to Lex’s heart. “I'm okay. I'm a strong boy.”

It wasn't until later, when he had finally tracked Bruce down for something he couldn't remember anymore that Lex realized the boy's little hand was still in his.

“Seems like you've acquired a barnacle,” Bruce pointed at the boy with a tip of his plate of canapés, sounding like a parody of the old woman's speech. They laughed together and the little boy laughed with them, clear and free like a bell.

 

**oOo0~0oOo**

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Lex could see people walking past. It was a nice summer’s day out. The streets were full of children his age, eating ice cream and laughing with friends. Summer holidays were meant to be fun, except when you’re Lex Luthor.

He looked back at his spreadsheet, scrolling quickly to double-check everything. The last time he ran the wrong numbers, he heard his father’s reprimand for days on end.  

The intercom rang and echoed in the small room he was given. The small LCD screen showed “Lionel Luthor” in bold. He picked it up and heard a terse “Come Here” before a sharp decisive click. There was a doorless gap between the far wall of  Lex’s little office and Lionel’s sprawling one, but his father wasn’t one to scream and shout at times like these.

His new printer was quick and gave better quality printouts. It finished its job just in time, and Lex took it across the distance that separated his small desk and his father’s ornately-carved monstrosity.

“Leave it on the table, and go home straight away,” his father said without looking up from his paperwork.  Lex was left wondering what it meant. He hated that he should always second guess himself when it came to his father. “What are you waiting for?” Lionel asked, lifting his head in irritation. “You better not keep your mother waiting.”

Lex felt lightheaded suddenly. His mother wasn’t well, he knew. What happened to her that Lex would be excused home so early in the afternoon? But he dared not ask his father who was looking at him expectantly—expecting him to say something stupid or do something asinine. So, Lex just nodded and placed pieces of paper on the edge of the table, let the bastard reach for it, he thought. Hopefully he’d pull a back muscle for it. It was still warm from the printer, and Lex’s fingers were cold. He walked back towards his shoebox room, took his suit jacket and bag with him. He didn’t bother to power down his computer.

********

Fidgeting the whole ride down the building and then across the city, Lex entertained various scenarios through his head at a frightening pace, each filling him with dread. He had to remind himself that it would not do his mother good if he showed up blue in the face with asthma. So it was really a small victory that he didn’t stumble and break his head when he jumped out without giving the car time to completely stop.

Sometimes he felt that the Luthor brownstone was small, but this time it felt like ages had passed since he ran through the front door and into his mother’s parlor.

Slowing only a fraction, he literally fell into the space inside when the door suddenly opened, door knob veering away from him denying him support.

“Lex, you’re just in time,” his mother said, laying a steadying hand on his outstretched forearm. “Come say hello to my friend.”

He looked past his mother’s wan but smiling face, her tumble of red hair half obstructing his view of the other woman in the room. Sofia Heilige looked different in linens and no makeup, looked younger without the shadow of her mother looming above her. Just like Lex’s own mother would’ve looked younger without the weight of Lionel, Lex, or Julian, he thought morosely.

His mother’s cold thin hands pressed between his shoulder blades, pushing him into her celadon-and-taupe room, drenched in sunlight filtering through seven French doors open to the flower garden beyond. A small shadow emerged from between white gauzy curtains, and Lex gazed wonderingly at how different the boy looked.

Latching onto his mother’s side, the boy looked up at Lex with his happy grin and sun-warmed cheeks. His powder-blue shirttails had escaped from dark blue cotton shorts. Lex had to smile to see black shoes with ladybird velcros. It didn’t seem like something Anna Heilige would like her grandson to wear. Perhaps the little boy was a rebel after all.

The boy returned Lex’s scrutiny and smiled in recognition. Small brows knitting together, no doubt trying to remember a name. Lex couldn’t remember telling the boy his name, apart from that one pronunciation made for the Anna’s benefit. He didn’t expect the boy to remember, but was pleasantly surprised when the boy said something like “Uh… Lexey?”

“Close,” Lex’s mother replied. “Jerome, this is my son, Alexander. I think you’ve met.”

********

It was quickly apparent that Lex had been sent home to babysit. This wasn’t the first time, but it was one of the more enjoyable ones. Leaving the two women in the parlor, they went to the Lorenzo’s Gelatteria with Jerome’s nanny and Lex’s chauffeur. In the car, Jerome showed him a stuffed griffon vulture he got from the zoo the day before—white bald head, blue-ringed eyes, and a ring of white boa-like feathers around its neck. The nanny smirked, eyes trained somewhere to the top of Lex’s head, and gleefully informed Lex that the vulture was named Alexei.

Lex would usually fly into a rage when some person made allusions to his baldness. But this time he let it pass. Instead, he pretended not to pay attention, busying himself with arranging Jerome to sit more comfortably on his lap. The little boy cooed at him, stuffed vulture in one hand, another sticky hand clawing on Lex’s shirt.

The ride back was filled with a speech about the zoo, Lex was astonished at how many species the boy could remember, their Latin names and their favorite foods. He also noted how the boy started very formal, but soon lapsed into childish contractions when he figured out that his nanny wasn’t correcting his speech anymore.

Lex had the chauffeur take the scenic route back, pointing out places and buildings. The little boy perked up at the mention of museums and then the library. Not for the first time Lex wondered at the appropriateness of the boy’s name. A nerd in the making, Lex thought, already plotting ways of teaching him Latin. Possibly not something Old Lady Heilige hoped for her grandson.

Jerome fussed a little when he was not let out to chase a dog that caught his eye in the park next to the library, but was mollified by the promise of next time. Lex was inordinately pleased to learn that the Heiliges wouldn’t be heading back to Boston as scheduled because a new business had suddenly emerged. The nanny looked contrite when she let that little information slip. But it was only for a split second, and then she smiled when she explained that the business was with Lionel Luthor.

Lex theorized that it might’ve been the chance meeting at the dinner party a few days ago that prompted this extended visit. He didn’t know whether it was at Lionel’s instigation or the Old Woman’s. Lionel had always wanted to take his base of operations eastward, but he couldn’t abide Gotham’s oppressiveness, and New York’s Norman Osborn was a volatile nutjob who hated Lionel Luthor’s guts.

The car rounded the corner and LuthorCorp Plaza came into view. Jerome craned his neck and watched the top spires from the car’s open sunroof. “Your building!” the little boy exclaimed, twisting his upper body so that he could look Lex in the eye.

“My father’s building,” Lex corrected with false modesty. _Not yet, maybe. But soon._

"Your building!" the boy insisted, climbing up and draping himself across Lex's shoulders to look at the receding building through the car's back window. Lex only hoped that the boy wouldn't stomp his feet, angled so close to Lex's privates. Anyway, he had to admire the boy's mulishness.

A jaw-popping yawn sent the little boy slumping onto his lap gracelessly, sending his stuffed vulture tumbling down. He caught it with one hand, and steadied the boy with the other. The nanny leaned forward and plucked the little boy out of Lex’s hands.

Watching the boy drift off to sleep, Lex remembered the numbers he was running early in the morning. He had a thought that maybe it had something to do with the Heiliges. He didn’t know how long they were going to be in town, didn’t know how many more times he had to go out on these excursions. Lex never liked babysitting the children of his father’s business associates or spawns of his mother’s bridge buddies. But, Lex had promised to take Jerome to the museums and the library at least once. A brat he might be, but Lex always kept his promises.

 

**oOo0~0oOo**

 

Despite his best efforts, Lex did not see Jerome again that year (or some years after). His father kept him busy with numbers and letters. Throughout summer, he left the house before his father and arrived home when his mother was already asleep.

A week after his excursion, he attended his first board meeting. He sat in his too big chair, at the other end of the table, next to a VP in marketing and an Executive of something redundant. His leg was dangling in air throughout the meeting, the only way he could have his head and shoulder above the table. Most of the things he heard irritated him, some of the decisions would eventually cost money that could be saved instead. He was young, but he wasn't stupid, especially when it came to predicting experiment outcomes. But he was told to listen only and never speak, so he consoled himself that one day this building would be his, as Jerome had said, and he would not tolerate stupid people in it.

Lex never knew whether Sofia Heilige ever visited his mother again after that day, never knew whether Jerome ever made it to the museum or the library.

Then came the day when a package from Boston arrived, accompanied by a well-groomed executive who stood in front of Lionel's table with an eager look on his young face. Lex knew it was only the smallest of possibly five Heilige contracts, but one that would give Lionel access to the eastern seaboard. Lex remembered Julian back at home, usually asleep or maybe crying. Soon Julian would grow up a little bit more and maybe Lex could take him to Boston to visit Jerome.

Minutes later the young man was gone and Lionel had told Lex to close up for the day. They would be going home early and Lionel would take everyone for a very public celebration. The secretary had been tasked to book the table at his favorite restaurant, his personal assistant was already on the phone to tip the paparazzi.

Lionel called Lilian on the carphone and told her to get ready. Lex could hear Julian crying in the background but Lionel, usually irritated at the sound of wailing, said nothing. Instead he told Lilian to wear the new emerald set he bought her, the one that would offset her red hair perfectly.

Julian died that night.

 


	2. School Days

The year his mother died was the year Lex was pulled out of day school and thrown into a boarding school. If he had any doubts whether his father had loved his mother, this should prove it to him. The party line was that he’s old enough to join a boarding prep school which would prepare him, both educationally and socially, for the working world. But he knew for a fact that Lionel Luthor could not abide having Lex in the house because he so reminded the older man of Lilian Luthor. Either that or the man just could not abide seeing the enduring testament of his failure.

Lex suspected that Lionel was probably looking for a replacement, both of love and of heir. And for that, he needed Lex out of sight. Lex had nightmares of not having anywhere else to come home to once the holidays rolled around.

To make matters worse, he found out that Oliver Queen, his childhood tormentor, was also a boarding student at Excelsior. Lex almost ran away. But Bruce Wayne was also there, oftentimes by his side like a brooding shadow, and it made life a little bit bearable. Lex always liked the latter, if only for his quietness that seemed to calm the mind. When news of his mother’s death had reached the press and then the public, Bruce Wayne was the only one who called him and asked how he was.

Lex had sent him a notice for the funeral, though he didn’t have to because it was everywhere in the news. And no doubt that a notice was sent formally through their respective offices. True enough, Bruce never showed up; merely sent a card with Lucius Fox who came on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. Lex didn’t know what the card said as it was lost amongst all the fripperies that Lionel had ordered for the service. Lex did not dare to ask, and Bruce never spoke of it. The gesture alone was enough to prove its worth, more than anything that could’ve been written in it.

****

Contrary to popular belief, time passed at the same rate whether one’s happy or miserable, and soon it was his final year at Excelsior. Lex wasn’t quite sure how he had survived, but he did, and soon he would be an emancipated minor. He would have the money his mother left him, and he would cut his ties with Lionel. At least that was the idea. Lex still couldn’t believe that he now had a much younger half-brother, a thick burly kid who was nothing like Julian. He hated the boy’s mother, that nurse who was now just another crazy woman in a psychiatric ward. Remembering the wild look on his mother’s eyes during her last days, he wondered whether Rachel Dunleavy’s crazy had been contagious.

Bruce's graduation the year before had left Lex alone in their two-bedroomed student accommodations. It had begun life as a three-bedroom, but both of them were clothes-horses—Lex openly and Bruce secretly. The school had waged a continuous crusade to force a third person in their flat, citing the low ratio of rooms versus boarders. But Lex shamelessly used his bullying victimhood as a sympathy card. That, and an agreement to pay more than was sensible. Between Luthor and Wayne, a state-of-the-art lab building was funded.

Earlier this month, however, the new manager approached him tentatively with a room sharing proposal. While two people sharing three rooms was extravagant, having a three-bedroomed flat to a person was unheard of, she said. Excelsior wasn't about to set a precedent, she declared. They would do extensive vetting, the woman promised earnestly. She'd personally guarantee her safety, she said, as though she'd be sleeping on his doorstep every day to do so. It had been a while since anyone had even so much as looked at him wrong, she argued.

The manager did not give him firm promises, but she had left deflated. And now, the silence of his sprawling accommodations seemed to mock him. Maybe she didn't find anyone willing to share a room with him. Just his luck, from bully material to outright pariah.

***

Kicking his shoes by the entrance, he bypassed the door to his room for their—his now—bedroom-turned-closet. Valise in one hand, he pushed halfheartedly at the door, a small sliver of dread lingered beneath his consciousness; he felt hollow even before seeing Bruce's half—okay, third—of the room empty.

The sense of emptiness was real, and Lex was only half-joking when he declared how Bruce was the one who kept him sane through most of school. He smiled as he remembered talking to Bruce on the phone last week when he found out that the older boy had lied to him about going to University. Studying in stuffy classrooms had never been one of Bruce’s forte, the high-vaulted ceilings and huge windows with views to the greens outside might be too jolly for a boy who preferred shadows.

Lex listened to Bruce bitch about the Board of Directors putting stipulations on him taking control of the company. They had voted for him to take some courses at Gotham U, in a building named after Bruce’s father, which was across the quad named after Bruce’s grandfather. A course in Public Relations, officially. Lex thought back at the pictures he saw on TV and in the papers, majoring in Women Studies and Gender Relations, it would seem.

Too preoccupied with Bruce’s almost overnight transformation from monk to playboy, Lex almost didn’t see the changes at first. A proper second look almost sent him face-first to the ground past the threshold. Bruce’s side of the closet-room was not as empty as he had expected, filled instead with small articles of clothing. From somber blacks and grays of their school uniform to primary-colored pedestrian clothing. Small but all perfectly tailored as though Bruce's clothes had been shrunk and stained  in Joseph's Technicolor Dream Washing Machine.

But it couldn't be Bruce and Lex was gripped with equal parts of fear and anticipation as he ran towards the other door. Bruce's old room, and now...

...the single bed had always been too small for Bruce—who had grown uncontrollably one summer. Now though, the same narrow bed looked like a boundless abyss with a gangly boy in its middle, a boy at the cusp of puberty, curled around a frayed griffon vulture that had seen better days. the fall of light that had edged past half-drawn curtains made the stuffed animal look pinch-eyed.

***

It would be the last morning before their first day of school. Jerome had accepted Lex’s help with his schoolbag grudgingly. He grumbled about being old enough to do things on his own, but still allowed Lex to put his book bag on the hook by the entrance. Lex suspected the kid was just humoring him.  

"Grade eight? You can't be that old." Lex remarked dryly. Come to think of it Lex hadn’t really known how old the boy was. In the light of day, sitting up straight and not curled around a stuffed animal, the boy didn’t look so small. In fact, Lex could see another Bruce in the making. The boy would be big and strong all over. Soon, Lex would not be able to use his height and age to get the boy to sleep at night. He was not going to be a nanny, Lex reminded himself, but the sound of Doomguy shooting his way through Hell had really jeopardized Lex’s sleep rhythm the last two nights. He still didn’t know how Jerome had managed to find such huge speakers for his computer. It only had two settings: loud and louder.

"I can be as old as I want to," the boy replied with an air of typical upper-class entitlement. Or just little boy naiveté, Lex couldn't figure which one yet.

They were having breakfast in bed. More precisely, the spare bed in their clothes closet, pushed underneath boarded-in windows. When Bruce was still his roommate, the spare bed had been pushed behind one of the cupboards. Now, Lex had found someone with whom he could share the scent of high-end dry cleaning and first-grade Italian leather. Jerome told him that they reminded him of Grandpapa Heilige.

“Anyway, speak for yourself. You’re how old?” the boy huffed, shoveling another spoon of cornflakes into his mouth. Jerome ate dry cornflakes and drank a whole jug of milk on the side. He liked his flakes crisp and non-soggy, and he enjoyed his milk without flakes in it. Lex liked granola bars and flapjacks.

Lex grinned sheepishly, somehow he had forgotten about being the youngest amongst his peers. In his defense, Lex had never felt young. He had always felt older than his age, probably more jaded and a little cocky with his knowledge. He guessed that growing up always trying to prove oneself to Lionel Luthor could pile on a person’s psychological age. It was a wonder that Jerome had managed to grow up relatively normal under the watchful eye of that old battle-ax he called Grandmama. Maybe because the boy had grown up with parents who truly cared for him. He knew Sofia Heilige loved her son, he had seen it all those years ago.

He found that he missed going out on excursions with Jerome, even though he only had one day of experience and nothing to compare it to. But Bruce would no longer be around to cart to museums anymore, and Lex had a feeling that Jerome might appreciate those more than Bruce ever would. “The next Off School day, remind me to take you to the gallery. I want to show you something.”

“Sure, Lex,” Jerome replied off-handedly. Lex turned his head and saw an empty bowl next to an empty milk jug. Jerome was already on his back, arms outstretched towards the ceiling, a Gameboy between his frantically moving fingers. The small cartridge peeking from the back slot declared it to be Tetris. Lex chuckled, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as Jerome cranked the volume. There’s still time before he had to go for the Senior’s meeting. Lex napped, dreaming of dancing Cossacks.

 

**oOo0~0oOo**

 

After some prodigious wheedling, Lex finally relented. Three days into the new school year, and Lex had begun smuggling Jerome into the Senior’s Washroom before dawn, before finally handing him the key. Jerome seemed to never need sleep, up before anyone—even the prefects and RA, possibly even before the roosters and the earthworms. The boy only smiled at him and repeated that thing about early birds getting the shower with the best pressure.

A few weeks later, Lex found out that Jerome didn’t like stepping on wet tiles left over by somebody.

It had been a rare sleepless night—due to what, Lex could not remember—and so Lex, not normally a morning person, had accompanied Jerome to the shower. He remembered watching, amazed at how dry tiles had engendered a happy hum from the boy. He did not mean to look, but he saw how Jerome’s toes dig ever so slightly into bone-dry grouting around each tile. Lex had slipped out of his bath slippers and tried the end of his bare toe against cold flooring. Chlorine residues, a thin powdery layer of them, tickled his sleep-silkened toe. He didn’t care for the feeling.

The best showerhead—which Jerome assured him was concluded after rigorous scientific-style trial and error—was somewhere in the middle of a row of seven shower cubicles. Not a place Lex would choose for himself in a million years. He had always used the one in the corner of the last row—using the shower long after everyone’s gone, the air stale and musty but it gave him a sense of security.

He had almost rejected Jerome’s choice, but the boy had looked at him in such an earnest way that Lex capitulated like a wet noodle.

It wasn’t a lie. The pressure was amazing from the first turn of a wrist, the heat as perfect as he remembered having. Soaping up, he quickly shed the last vestiges of his wariness.

Jerome took the one across, their backs turned to each other, separated by two full tiles and pale green shower curtains.  “Great, isn’t it?” his voice bounced on walls and rolled off ceilings, each way and everywhere around Lex, penetrating the wall of water.

Lex turned down the flow a little bit, just enough to allow him speech without drowning. “Might even be worth waking up at the ass end of mornings.”

A chuckle, low and warm floated above him. “Fight you for first dibs tomorrow!” Trust the boy to ruin him for life and make a challenge out of it.

A routine was easy enough to set up afterwards.

****

Aside from Bruce Wayne, Lex never knew anyone else who was as early a riser as Jerome Heilige. Even Bruce was never this _awake_ so early in the morning. In fact, Lex attributed the older boy’s dour disposition to waking up so early. There were times when Lex’s “maybe you should sleep in a little” was greeted with a growl.

“Are you always this perky in the morning?” Lex asked, as they trudged back to their room, early enough to have the entire hallway to their squeaky-footed selves. Lex marveled how some doors were not thick enough to muffle some person’s snores and sleep-babbles. Maybe one of them belonged to Oliver Queen. It would be a good—though not too significant—thing to hold over the newly-appointed Senior Prefect’s head.

“I guess so. But not always. I used to sleep in quite a lot,” the boy sounded like was trying to be modest.

They sought refuge in their clothes-closet, fresh set of house-robes around their rapidly cooling bodies. “Last year, I spent the whole summer in Smallville, with Papa’s sister. Aunt Martha lives on a working farm with her husband. They’re early risers. Make sense because they’re farmers, right? So I had to wake up even earlier to use the shower because they only have one bathroom. Mr. Kent—that’s Aunt Martha’s husband—he grumbled a lot because I woke up so early. Which is odd because he’s a farmer. I don’t think I like him very much.” It was as though the boy had been telling this particular spiel for some time. Words tumbled out of little boy’s mouth distractedly as he fiddled with his laptop. Lex could hear the tinny sounds of Pacman being loaded. “I went this year as well. He’s still awkward around me.” There was no inflection, just an observation, as Pacman was chased around the maze.

Windows might’ve been boarded in, but Lex knew there’s still several hours before they had go to the breakfast hall. He settled on his side and heard Jerome’s Gameboy clatter harmlessly to the ground. None of them made a move to save it.

“Lex. Sleep?”

He was still lethargic, even after a few weeks of school non-events. His classes were easy enough, his peers were more interested in bullying newcomers. It was too early in the academic year for late night reviews, he hadn’t needed to fight anyone. His only physical activities these days were running distractions for Jerome who wanted to explore _everything_ , who asked about every little thing and every last person. What’s that? Who’s that? What’s that for? Why’s he like that? Where’re the rabbits kept?

How long would the little kid be able to keep this up? He was used to Bruce’s quiet darkness, a friend to brood with. Jerome’s sunny disposition and boundless energy threw him off quite a bit. “Wake me up for breakfast.”

Jerome’s “oh okay” was drowned out by Pacman being swallowed up.


End file.
